


Variations to Distraction

by Orlissa



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And Grant is not helping at all, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Skye is a bit miserable, Skyeward Smut Fest, Smut, and delicious, because he is damn damn distractiong, because she is going through a "dry spell", fits into the Haylie/Ada/Ellie verse, s1 au, skyewardsmutfest2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlissa/pseuds/Orlissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their relationship is discovered by the team following Coulson's abduction, Skye and Grant are given a two-week "trial period" to prove that their relationship won't interfere with their work - which Grant interprets as "no sex for two weeks."</p><p>A predicament Skye finds hard to bear.</p><p>
  <b>My first submission for the Skyeward Smut Fest</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variations to Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> My first submission to the Skyeward Smut Fest for the prompt _“It’s best not to look at him./I know, but I just can’t look away.”_ It was actually pretty fun to write, most because the structure I used let me play with different tones – you’ll find humor, fluff and angst in neat little segments in the story. Still, I can’t say I’m completely satisfied with it, but I hope you’ll like it :) (Also, let’s play “find the _Firefly_ reference!)

The tendons of his neck slightly tensed and his biceps bulged as he gripped the edge of the crate and lifted it, then turned to put it in its place. With his back to her, Skye let her gaze wander over his body, from the wide shoulders to that great ass. The T-shirt he was wearing wasn’t doing the best job to emphasize the sculpted muscles of his back, but it didn’t really matter – she knew all too well that terrain, the ridges and dips; she had run her tongue along his spine, scratched and clawed at his shoulders as he–

Skye bit into her lip and pressed her legs together at the thought, never once taking her eyes off of Grant as he bent down to grab the next crate ( _oh, that sight!_ ). She really, really…

“Maybe you should stop doing that. For your own good,” Jemma quipped in from behind her back, entering the Bus’s lab from the avionics bay. “It’s best not to look at him.”

Skye groaned and dropped her head to the S.H.I.E.L.D. manual that lay open in front of her.

“I know,” she said in a pained voice, lifting her head slightly and turning sideways to look at her friend, “but I just can’t look away.”

To her credit, Jemma gave her a slight smile.

She let her head drop again.

It was getting ridiculous, really – the whole situation, the way she was bearing it… Everything. Hell, it wasn’t her first dry spell (and anyway, she had no idea when she had started considering nine days – and seven hours – without sex a dry spell), but she had never gotten this needy, desperate and miserable so fast.

But then again, she thought as she raised her gaze at him again as he continued tidying up the cargo bay, she had never had a partner like Grant Ward either.

_The way he just seemed to know her body – as if it was his sole purpose in life – as he kissed and nibbled and licked and bit his way down on her neck, sucking her nipple into his mouth, swirling the tip of his tongue around her navel, then going even lower, gripping her thighs, opening her up, his lips on her clit, his fingers slipping into her…_

_He made her see stars._

Now, long story short – following a couple of shots and a shared moment of weakness and lost self-control (and a make out session in front of the bar she might have or not initiated) they had spent a night filled with passion and orgasms, after which they had kinda-sorta started a relationship (which, if not else of note yet, entailed great sex). Strictly on the down-low, on a need-to-know basis – as in keeping it to themselves, not telling the team about it.

But then Coulson was taken, and somehow during the rescue mission the cat got out of the bag.

Thankfully, A.C. was pretty cool about it (at least he didn’t yell or anything, at least not with her), but he did give them an ultimatum, or condition, or call it what you will: two weeks – that’s how long the two of them had to show that they could make it work, that they could coordinate their private and professional life (which was silly, if you asked her, because they had managed to keep their… _extracurricular activities_ completely under wraps for three weeks, with no problems). Still, Coulson said that if they managed to do that, did the two weeks with complete professionalism and no incidents, he’d personally make sure that S.H.I.E.L.D. bureaucracy didn’t bother them because of their… fraternization.

This, in itself, didn’t mean _no sex for two weeks_ , of course – they’d have to just do it in a sneaky way –, but Grant Ward never did a thing half-assedly ( _oh, she could attest to that_ ), so he basically-metaphorically hung a _Stop_ sign on his jeans button, because, quote, _that is the best way not to mess it up_ , unquote ( _no, it wasn’t_ ). And although he did promise a weekend getaway once the two weeks were up – in a place they didn’t have to be quiet –, but still, the fact remained: they were only halfway through their “trial period”, and she was already going crazy, and the only thing that kept her half-sane was replaying their last encounter in her mind again and again, even if it wasn’t one of her happiest memories.

 _Coulson had been gone for eight hours. There was a lull in the search, agents coming and going, it was morning, and they were supposed_ to rest _. But she couldn’t – she was wired. And she was way past caring._

_So she went to his bunk._

_There was nothing fine or romantic or heartfelt about it – she needed an outlet, a way to unwind, an orgasm, a ride, hard and fast. And she knew Grant’d be able to give it to her._

_He was standing in front of his bed, gingerly trying to peel of his shirt when she slid the door closed behind herself. She didn’t need to say a word – he could read everything in her eyes (she liked this about them: understanding each other without words, finding the same wavelength easily)._

_With her hands on his chest – mindful of his wounded shoulder –, she pushed him down on the bed, then quickly shed her pants and underwear before straddling him – leaving no doubt of what she wanted. Of what she needed._

_Again, there was no finesse about it. One hand on the back of his neck, the other pressed against the wall of the plane, her hips grinding against him, she claimed his lips, hungry and desperate, her tongue darting into his mouth, tasting him. And he palmed her ass and gripped her waist, pushing her down, harder against him, until she could feel his hardened member against her core, the zipper of his pants sliding against her lips._

_“Please,” she whispered into his mouth with barely any sound. “Please…”_

_There was some fumbling then, her being pushed back a little so he could reach his pants and undo the button and the zipper, and then he was pulling himself free, hard and swollen and throbbing, and the next moment she was sinking down onto him._

_He was big, and what they had just done wasn’t exactly enough foreplay, so he stretched her to the point of pain, but she didn’t care._

_She just didn’t care._

_Not even giving herself time to adjust, she started riding him, hard and fast and uncaring, open mouth chasing his. He put one hand on her hip, gripping her flesh, trying to help her move, trying to help her keep the rhythm as she kept going faster and faster, while the other hand sneaked between them and found her clit, rubbing furiously, without mercy._

_She came soon and hard, with a silent scream. She gripped his uninjured shoulder, her nails digging into his flesh, and arched her back, her core clenching around him in abandon. He followed her moments later, emptying himself deep inside of her._

_Afterwards, she slumped against him, her head on his shoulder, his member slipping out of her, their mixed juices dripping from her core, wrecking his pants. And he just let her rest, caressing her hair, whispering soothing nothings into her ear._

_And then it became all too much – what had happened in the last few hours –, and she started crying._

“Skye?” Jemma’s voice dragged her back to the present. “Are you okay?”

She harrumphed and sat up, leaning back in her chair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, it’s just…” she trailed off, sneaking a glance at Grant; he was now sitting on one of the crates, a rifle in hand, pulling it apart and cleaning the parts with great precision. She swallowed. “No, I’m not okay.”

A tray of vials in her hand, Jemma stopped halfway to her work station, raised her eyebrows and gave her a look. She was clearly at the end of her patience and concern as far as Skye’s Grant-related misery was concerned.

“Oh, come on,” the scientist sighed, and took a quick look around the lab, as if to check Fitz wasn’t lurking around in one corner, lost in his work, but ears open. Once she was sure they were truly alone, she took a step closer, leaned in, and said, almost whispering, in a conspiratory tone, “It couldn’t have been that good.”

Skye snorted.

“Oh, believe me, it was even better,” she said, squirming in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Jemma, taking a seat herself, looked at her from her desk, as if she was waiting for elaboration. “You know, it’s like…” She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to find the right words. “It’s like eating cheap, shitty, bland chocolate in your whole life, and you are kinda okay with it, because it’s still chocolate. But then one day somebody offers you real chocolate, like those crazy expensive, fancy, handmade bonbons that just simply melt in your mouth, and it’s a flavor orgy, and mmm…” She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, imagining it ( _lips on her lips, wide, warm hands on her breasts, strong thighs between her legs, hot breath on her neck…_ ). “And it’s amazing, and you just can’t imagine how could you even deal with the crappy stuff, but you are sure as hell never going back to that – no, you are going to eat fancy handmade bonbons until the end of days.”

She could actually see Jemma’s pupils dilate and could basically feel her mouth going dry ( _yeah, she’d been there_ ).

“Well, um…” Jemma cleared her throat. “Good for you.” And with that, she turned back to her vials.

Skye chuckled lightly at that, but then as she too devote her full attention ( _well, most of it_ ) to the manual she had been reading, her eyes inevitable fell on Grant again, and she groaned softly. “Yeah, lucky me.”

He was polishing the gun now, with slow, careful, deliberate strokes, making sure that the barrel was spotless – and this, him being so engaged in his task, made her remember, against her wishes, how surprisingly gentle and attentive he could be.

_She doubted she had ever been so relaxed and sated in her whole life._

_He had said he was taking her to some little field exercise, blending in, spotting things, being aware of her surroundings, that kind of thing, and they really did that – for a while (he wouldn’t have gone as far as outright lying to Coulson). But then he checked them into a hotel (under false names and playing a part, because why not make it an exercise, too?), and they had been here for the last… oh, three hours or so._

_They had been through three rounds already, and she was lying blissfully naked in sinfully soft, rumpled sheets, stretching languidly, almost purring. He was there right next to her, equally naked, lying on his side, a hand on her stomach, fingers splayed, lips on her collarbone, peppering her skin with small, affectionate kisses._

_“You never get tired?” she asked, her eyelids slowly dropping. He was really tiring her out._

_“Of you?” He raised his head a bit. “Never,” he said, and then he was back on her again, playfully nipping at her skin. She squealed, laughing, and tried to turn away._

_Strong hands gripped her waist, keeping her in place as she laughed, and the next moment she was back on her back, with him above her, his body cradled between her thighs. He ran his fingers along her skin, barely touching, from her knee to her hip, and she instinctively raised her legs, giving him a better angle._

_They were so close; his nose almost touched hers, and she could feel every breath he took, as his chest rose, then fell back._

_“Where are you going?” he asked, breathless, chasing her mouth._

_“Nowhere,” she replied, eyes slowly closing as his lips found hers._

_“Good.” His nose skimmed along her jaw. “I wasn’t going to let you go anyway.”_

_(He didn’t say that that was because she was his, but it would have been okay, because she_ was _his, just as much he was hers.)_

_She tightened her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, while she looked deep into his eyes, challenging him._

_“Then at least give me a reason to stay.”_

_And he did – he sank into her then, slowly and torturously. Never taking his eyes off of her, he started moving, pulling out and then pushing back in, almost gently, teasingly slow, intent on stretching it out, not rushing towards the end, but giving her something much more intimate, something much more intense._

_And she let him, getting lost in the feel of his body._

Skye shut the manual with a loud thud, making Jemma jump in her seat.

“I give up,” she said, pushing her hair back with both hands in an exasperated gesture. She sneaked a glance at Grant – still there, just outside the plexiglass, still hot, still distracting –, then groaned. “It just won’t work.” And with that she stood up and gathered her stuff into her arms. “If anyone’s looking for me, I’ll be upstairs,” she told Jemma, then walked out of the lab in the direction of the cargo bay.

Which might not have been the finest idea.

Grant raised his head the moment he heard the lab door slide open, and smiled the moment he saw her approach. And with that stupid, goofy, lovesick smile and heart eyes ( _oh, she really couldn’t handle the heart eyes right now_ ) he stood up to step to her, intercepting her on her way to spiral staircase.

Yeah, she was having none of it.

“Stop,” she said evenly, even raising her hand for emphasis. To his credit, he stopped right away ( _good boy_ ). “Stop where you are, and don’t come an inch closer.”

“Is everything alright?” he asked with freaking genuine concern etched on his face (honestly, sometimes she doubted if he was _real_ ).

“No, nothing is alright,” she said, slowly shaking her head and taking another step towards the staircase. He didn’t move, but his gaze followed her every move. “Nothing is alright, because this freaking _timeout_ is driving me up the wall – don’t say a word!” she warned when she saw that he was about to open his mouth (probably to point out that this was _not_ a timeout). “So I’m going mad, and you are not helping at all, with all of this…” She made a vague hand gesture, pointing at all of his body, from top to delicious bottom. She could tell from his expression that he got what she meant. “This is not helping.”

“I’m–“

“Hush!” she cut in, and he bit into his lower lip, trying not to laugh (that bastard – she was sure he found her _absolutely adorable_ right now). “You are not in any position to talk now. You can… ah… Could you just stop being so damn attractive for a while? Like, for a week? That would really make things easier for me.”

(She knew she was being ridiculous, but she was way past being reasonable. Actually, this might have been the first sign of her impending insanity – a feat she was sure she was going to reach by the end of the two weeks.)

He took a sharp breath, trying to contain his amusement.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised earnestly. “And may I get a permission to talk then?”

She thought about it for a moment, then grabbed the railing and stepped on the first step of the stairs.

“No,” she told him over her shoulder. “But you might use your mouth for other things. Now, if anybody needs me, I’ll be in my bunk!”


End file.
